Four Times Santana Almost Said Yes
by mudboned
Summary: Four times Santana almost said yes. And the one time she did.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the characters.

"Hey, San."

Santana swivels in her chair to face the blonde sprawled haphazardly across her (ridiculously small) twin-sized bed before she replies.

"Yeah, babe?"

Brittany smiles (hesitantly), and crawls to the edge of the bed, her knees brushing Santana's as she reaches for her hand on the desk. Their fingers mold together effortlessly and it takes all of Santana's willpower not to wonder why. (Why Brittany?) Pale white hands grasp tan ones almost so desperately that Santana has to look down to make sure it's not herself that's grabbing on too tight. She looks back up into Brittany's face, seeing nothing but outright honesty, and all of a sudden she has chills running down her spine.

"I love you," Brittany breathes out, soft and so Brittany-like that Santana has to take a few seconds to compose herself and not lose to her screaming, beating (truthful) heart.

Santana's careful. She carefully extracts her own fingers from the blonde's, she carefully pretends not to notice the flicker of pain across Brittany's face as she does so, and instead stares at the space in between her fingers before looking up; at the wall behind Brittany's head.

She carefully replies, with a (disgustingly) guarded smile, "I know, B."

And Santana turns back to her desk.

She ruffles through their Spanish papers, but no amount of paper, metal or any kind of material in the world could stop the heat of Brittany's gaze burning holes in the side of her head.

She stares at green stars above her, lying on her bed, with Brittany's warm body curled up next to her, her head tucked under Santana's chin. The fake glow-in-the-dark stars don't twinkle, don't shine, don't wink at her like they should, like she wants desperately wants them to, so she can fervently wish on them like a naïve child, willing away her fear.

Santana feels Brittany stir next to her, propping herself up on her elbow, so Santana closes her eyes and pretends to sleep.

She feels Brittany's stare. She feels Brittany's hand ghost across her cheek, brushing away brown hair. She feels Brittany lean down, and ghost her lips softly with her own, pulling away just a millimeter so she feels Brittany's breath on her lips. (Please.)

She feels the words coming out of Brittany's mouth because she already knows what Brittany's about to say.

"_Do you love me, San?"_

Her body (heart) beats _yes, always, forever_ but her head pounds _shouldn't, won't, can't_.

And because she's Santana fucking Lopez, she'll tell you she needs to do the right (wrong) thing and she lets the question die in the musky (suffocating) air of her bedroom.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the characters.

She likes (hates) him.

Who wouldn't? He has ridiculous abs, dances like he's the epitome of dance and has no qualms with anyone (except her but he doesn't know that).

He's everything Brittany _is_,_ was_ and _always will be_.

So why shouldn't they go together?

She likes (hates) the way he sneaks up behind her and slips his arms around her waist, hoisting her up, Brittany, arms flailing, squealing happily as he does. She likes (hates) the way he looks at Brittany, with something like or close to awe on his face. She likes (hates) the way he holds her, like if he held her too tight, Brittany might break and crumble (Santana knows better) into a million little pieces and get away from him.

Santana watches them huddled in front of his locker as she pretends to fix her make-up at her own locker and she wonders if he knows that Brittany hates her hair in a pony-tail because she feels like it's constricting her ability to dance, wonders if he knows Brittany likes to eat her ice cream with a spoon, even if it's in a cone.

Seeing him head off to class, leaving Brittany by herself, Santana shuts her locker and struts over to her, plastering on a wide (fake) smile.

"You two look smokin' hot together." Santana can't help the (false) words slipping out of her mouth.

Brittany gives her an odd look and turns to look at his retreating form before turning back, not looking Santana in the eye. She bites her lower lip and exhales.

"He's really nice. But I don't like him that way. I should date someone I like, right?"

Santana would love to yell _yes, for God's sake, yes, date me. _

But that wouldn't do for her reputation.

So instead, she gives a throaty chuckle and sticks her pinky out for Brittany to take. Once conjoined, Santana leads them both down the hallway to Spanish, the whole time explaining to Brittany that she doesn't need to like someone to date them (because you should never say no) and why she should date Mike Chang (and not Santana).


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: Don't own the characters.

* * *

She's drunk (but not really).

It's ironic, really (but not really).

People tend to do the most outrageous and out-of-character things when they're drunk. When they wake up the next morning with their clothes strewn everywhere, shit on their pants and people passed out around them, they think, "What the_ fuck_ happened last night?"

And when they hear from their friends, or gossipmongers or some random kid who just happened to be at the party, what they did exactly, they freak out because they either, a) had sex with someone, b) blew up a car (or some crazy shit like that), c) had a crapload of whatever was pushed into their empty hands during the time they were conscious or d) all of the above.

Once they hear what they did, people swear and groan and moan but in the end, when they're confronted with what they've done, they always tend to say, "Dude, I was drunk. That totally excuses what I did."

The thing is, it really doesn't. Because _in vino veritas_.

_In wine there is the truth_.

Alcohol gives them the ability, the push to do what they can't do while they're still conscious of their actions. Alcohol is the liquid courage that gives them the green light to go crazy because deep down they know they won't remember what happened the next day and it gives them this sense of freedom.

They think, "I'm drunk. It's acceptable. It's an excuse. Should I go for it?". And most of the time, the answer's yes.

But for Santana, it's obvious she's totally (not) drunk and Brittany is totally (ridiculously) wasted. Brittany, now fully leaning on Santana, is giggling obscenities into Santana's ear and no matter how loud Mike turns the music up, Santana can still hear the stream of dirty words pouring out of Brittany's mouth.

Santana chances a quick glance around the room to see if anyone's watching.

Most of party-goers are crowded around the ping pong table, with howling and yelling unintelligible words. She spies Puck making out with what seems to be a freshman Cheerio on the couch (she'll have to talk to him about that later). The other Cheerios are gathered around the iPod dock, scoping out the guys near the beer pong game. Mike, currently in an epic dance-off with Matt, glances at them occasionally, with a nervous look in his eyes.

She's caught between wanting to laugh at his anxiety and wanting to scowl at his right to even be nervous.

Santana manages to grimace instead (which isn't really pleasant at all because Santana Lopez does not do grimaces), and tears her eyes away from him, only to find Quinn Fabray staring at her from across the room, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Despite her fall from grace, Quinn had apparently maintained enough of her former prestige (bitchiness) to be invited to these frequent parties.

Before Santana can call out with a scathing remark about the blonde's weight, Quinn mouths something.

"_Be careful with her."_

Santana stares (freezes, chokes) and watches Quinn turn on her heels and leave through the front door.

By now, Brittany's getting handsy and Santana is usually all for that kind of attention, but not when they're in the middle of a party with several of the guys already leering at them, so she pries Brittany's hands off her body and props her up against her side.

She's still staring at the front door, wondering what the hell Quinn meant by–

"Wanna go upstairs, San?" Brittany giggles (oh, god) and breathes (vodka) into Santana's ear.

– and Santana realizes exactly what Quinn had implied.

So she turns sideways, sliding an arm around Brittany's waist and hoisting her up to full height (as high as she can anyways).

And because she's drunk (but not drunk enough), Santana leads them both to the front door.

"Maybe next time, B."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the characters.

**AN: **This is longer than what I usually write. I apologize.

* * *

"I don't think people realize how ridiculously fucking hard it is not to fall off of goddamn Rainbow Road when you're using the golden mushroom."

Santana doesn't think people realize how (ridiculously fucking) awesome it is to have Noah Puckerman as a bro.

"Lezbro technically– I totally tapped you, but now you're tappin' that hotass blonde, which makes us bros." Puck had explained, a smirk on his face, "Just so you know – bros share their lays, so you totally gotta let me in on the action. Or a threesome. A threesome would be fucking awesome."

She'd punched him in the arm (hard, like really, really hard) for that, but was grateful nevertheless that he'd only received her news (about Brittany) with a half-shrug (and a knowing look), and an offer of beer with a side of ass-kicking in Mario Kart.

Currently, Santana's laying on the couch in his basement with her head on one of the sidearms and her feet in Puck's lap as she totally owns him in Mario Kart. She lazily presses a button on her game controller that sends a flying turtle shell into his character, and smoothly drives past him, winning the race.

Puck gave a low growl, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Fuck. Why are you so damn good at this game?"

Chuckling, Santana readjusts herself on his couch (cause damn, her neck hurts) and reaches for another beer on the coffee table, popping the cap and taking a long swallow. She sighs, relieved for the cool refreshment, because they've been playing Mario Kart for five hours, during which they had their daily smack-talking, excessive swearing and the occasional flying bag of chips.

"You just _suck_. There's really no other explanation," Santana replies, smirking at the football player and digs her toes into his stomach, prompting him to slap her feet out of his lap.

"Whatever. I let you win that one cause I know you're let down that you won't be ridin' the Puckasaurus anytime soon." Puck stands up and stretches, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Santana snorts, and watches Noah take a swig of his beer and wonders whether they would've been together in another life, because despite being (acting, pretending) a jerk during all hours of school, and hounding after every piece of ass that looks at him, Puck is a decent guy.

Because, if anything, Noah Puckerman is steadfast.

She likes (loves) that about him.

In sixth grade, Puck had shown up in school with a bright, neon pink cast on his right arm (that tree was begging to be climbed), Karofsky had mocked him for the rest of the day, spewing nonsense about how gay Puck looked in his "gay, pink cast".

Puck could only glare angrily at Karofsky (because he was right-handed and Karofsky was way too big to take on with a stupid cast on his stupid arm and he might've hurt it more) but Santana, who was sick and tired of Karofsky's redundant jokes, stepped up and shamelessly punched him in the balls (cause she was too short to reach any higher).

Needless to say, Santana and Puck were inseparable after that incident, wreaking havoc with everything (and anything) that came their way.

And in eighth grade, Puck was the one who would show up at her house, with a pack of Kool Aid in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other (that would later be thrown at the unfortunate ex-boyfriend's house) and a (genuine) smile on his apologetic face that said everything that didn't need to be said out loud.

And right now, Puck stares at her with that _look_ on his face that always says, ugh you're doing that thing where you think about our magical childhood and blah blah blah and she can't help it but she feels the corners of her mouth turn up. So Santana rolls on her back instead and stares across the room, cradling her empty beer bottle to her chest as she listens to Puck search around his basement for something.

"Dude, get your ass over here and help me find my Super Mario game." Puck throws a stuffed penguin at her head, and misses, landing on the floor. Santana picks it up and stares back and forth between Puck and the stuffed animal.

"Why do you have a stuffed penguin in your basement? I thought you were the king of badasses?" Santana grins and chucks it back at him, the penguin bouncing off the side of his head, just as her cell phone vibrates.

The screen explains that it's Brittany. So Santana picks up.

"Hey."

"Hi, San! Where are you? I couldn't find you after school so I asked Quinn where you were but all she did was give me a weird look so I thought she might have that thing you get when you're pregnant where you throw up all the time – "

"Morning sickness, Britt."

"Right! That thing. Well anyways, where are you? You were supposed to come over today to help with my math homework."

Santana sighs and Puck cocks an eyebrow at her, questioning. She mouths Brittany at him and his eyes light up in realization.

Puck grins and jumps over the coffee table, barreling into Santana on the couch and successfully steals her cell phone. He walks back to the other side with Santana looking on with interest.

"Hey, Britt! Yeah, Santana can't talk right now – um, no? I don't think so...I'm fine actually. We're working on Spanish homework. Er, not that kind of homework. Yeah, uh she'll call you tomorrow. Yeah, thanks. By the way, she got you something. She'll give it to you tomorrow morning. Of course. Alright, cool. Night."

Puck smirks as he snaps her cell phone shut and throws the phone at her. "How badass am I? I just totally got you off the hook with Brittany."

"Yeah, whatever," Santana scoffs, staring at her phone before looking up at him and frowning, "What was that about a present?"

"You're taking this out of my hands," Puck explains, picking up the dejected penguin from the floor, "I'm too badass to have stuffed animals in my bro lair."

"Sure. Whatever." Santana was back to staring at her phone.

Puck sighs, runs a hand over his head and continues talking, "And afterwards, we're gunna fly to the moon on magical unicorns made out of pancakes and cut up parts of the moon to put into our grilled cheese sandwiches that we're gunna fry on the sun."

"Great. That'd work," Santana mumbles, running her thumb over the screen of her phone, totally unaware of the conversation.

"DUDE." She jumps out of her seat in the couch, landing on the floor of the basement and glares at him.

"What? Goddamn it, you probably broke my perfect ass."

"You're doing that thing again, where you're all girly and mopey and shit." Santana glares at him, her expression deadly.

Puck puts his hands up, as if surrendering, and shrugs before going to sit in front her on the floor.

He gives her a good hard look before opening his mouth. "Look, Santana. For you, I'd burn down this whole fucking town if that was what you wanted. But you seriously need to get your shit together. Brittany's here and she wants you. If I were you, I'd get the fuck on that cause she isn't gunna wait for you forever."

Santana winces at his words, because no matter how clueless people consider Noah to be, he proves them all wrong time and time again, maybe not in public but always to her. Puck pauses, a look of uncertainty adorning his face but he continues on because he has to get this through to her.

"And honestly, I'm getting tired of you being all emo and crap. This isn't you. The Santana I know would get off her ass and go get her girl, probably with some added epicness. The old Santana needs to come back cause I wanna be able to egg random douchebags' houses and blow shit up with my best friend again."

Puck falls silent, letting the words sink in. When he doesn't get an answer, he sighs again and gets up from the floor. He stares down at Santana's unmoving form.

"I know you can do this, Santana. The Santana I know always got what she wanted. Don't you want her?"

The _yes _is on the tip of her tongue and Santana knows it and Puck knows it but he lets it go because despite always being the one to push her to do what she was always too afraid to do, he knows that this is something she has to do herself.

He doesn't even bother faking a smile as he lifts her up from the ground and roughly pulls her into a hug. Santana clenches the back of his shirt and buries her head into his shoulder, wishing she could open her mouth and everything would pour out of her

After a few moments, he lets go of her, stepping back, and clears his throat, "Well, now I can probably kick your ass at Mario Kart cause you're emotionally compromised. Let's go, mofo."

And despite everything, Santana smiles.


End file.
